HB Biker Girl sent me this freezer. She had me at pot pie.
All this talk about fridges and freezers reminds of how sentimental my family is and what we might think of as a memento, is someone else’s freezer burnt trash. Like Andy Dick told me in a tweet today, “God Don’t Make No Trash!”
Hubby and I were only 21 when we had our first son so when my MIL asked if she could keep the placenta, I felt it would be rude to turn her down. I rationalized giving it to her because I had read about placenta shampoos and people eating placentas in villages. I also didn’t have the money to pay a mortgage on cord blood DNA-life-saving juice. She wanted to take the placenta from our first born and plant a tree with it at our home. We could watch the tree grow as we watch our son do the same. Like one of my favorite children’s books, The Giving Tree. Sounds nice, right? So, I let her have it.
We lived in an apt for 2 years and the placenta sat in MIL’s freezer. She brought it back to her home in Utah shortly after my son was born and her PTO had ended. The thing did not sit silently undisturbed next to the ice cream, like the purple popsicle refused by a child (“Purple tastes like grape flavored Tylenol”). Nay, nay. The placenta had an afterlife of its own.
Spouse’s younger brother, Sterling, was a very interesting teen to say the least. He brought his friends over to behold this thing. I don’t know if was a bet, a dare, or just a peek show. “Want to see a bloody afterbirth?” It was rumored that they tossed the foil-covered-pot-roast-looking, nutritional sack that belonged to my son, in the manner of a football.
Fond Memories. Fond Memories indeed.
You’re right. That freezer was pretty personal.